Until the End
by wyoluvr
Summary: Ron knew what was important in life.


Title: Until the End  
Author: Criss Moody wyoluvr@yahoo.com  
Website: http://www.ficbitch.com/hpf  
Date: September 24, 2002  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling is sole proprietess.  I own nothing.  
Distribution: My site.  Otherwise, please ask.  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Ron knew what was important in life.  
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Hermione  
Notes and thanks: Kassie betaed.  Any remaining snafus and Americanisms are all my fault.

The London skyline faded to orange as the sun set. Days ended softly, sometimes, because life was so simply good that even bad days seemed better at the end. Ron's life had fit an idyllic pattern for so long he'd almost forgotten that even good things end. 'Cause there had to be an end, yeah? It's not possible for life to parade along on an even route for all time. Sun had to set.   
  
Right, there'd been some bumps in the path. Fighting You-Know-Who didn't rank in his top five favorite moments. The acrid smell of magic in the air, losing track of what was happening to whom in a single-minded purpose. Keeping Harry safe. Keeping Hermione safe. Keeping everyone else safe. Worry more than he should have about himself. Yes, because he was alive, and nearly everyone he loved was alive, it had ended happily. The process didn't matter to Ron. The only significant thing was being alive.   
  
He's thinking about this as he stumbled down to the nearest fireplace on his way home. How life's so very ordinary these days. Honestly, Ron worried more about the cheeky garden gnomes than he did about dark wizards or the possibility of the rather innocuous gent down at the Muggle post office really being a minion of You-Know-Who. Things he'd spent a good portion of ages 12-18 fretting about had pretty much gone the way of the Death Eaters. Surely, a few remained, like crust on the bottom of an old frying pan. But it hardly mattered when their leader had been roundly trounced a second time, well into oblivion, and every suspected follower dragged off to Azkaban.   
  
The good guys had won.  
  
Almost too good to be true. Of and on, Ron relaxed into the comfortable grind of his days. Two to three days a week at the Ministry. He'd been a Special Duty Auror for a few years now. Paid alright and he had more time at home. Seeing as their household had three children, it was only right. Another point of wonder. He'd ended up not just a bit like his parents. He thought he'd mind it, but maybe having more money helped. Harry had enough bits and pieces at Gringotts to keep the lot of them in robes and Chocolate Frogs for all time. Hermione taught the occasional course on Advanced Defenses Against the Dark Arts at nearly all the major Wizard schools. Harry had done a stint at the Ministry but he liked being at home. They had the twins, Lily and Molly, and the baby, Sirius. Before Ron closed his eyes to enter the fireplace, he smiles. His children have made his life schmaltzy   
and homey and familial.   
  
And worrying, terrifying, and deadly. Ron would be a ripe forty the next day. He had a cottage in the suburbs, two partners, three children, a decent job, no money worries, and blast it if he wasn't waiting around for the proverbial shoe to drop. He hadn't always been such a worrier. Or had he? Honestly, he'd gotten to just the right age for things to start blurring. Some things stay fresh. Meeting Harry and Hermione. The startled, sad look on Neville's face as he'd died. The way blood had felt on Ron's hands as he beat at a Slytherin who'd been a classmate of theirs. The horrid silence when he found a house already visited by Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban. But still, he'd forgotten what it meant to be afraid and how it felt to be entirely sure that he, Harry, and Hermione could take care of anything. Eventually. With luck. Ron opened his eyes, leaned against the wall. Never travel by Floo powder when thinking serious thoughts.  
  
Everyday that he woke up to take care of Sirius, he picked that squirming bundle of flesh up and marveled. He'd helped create this child. Well, not physically. Sirius' dark hair and hazel eyes pointed to some definite Potter genes. But he'd been there for his birth. Ron had named him. And he worried about Sirius every single moment of every single day. He breathed, he worried that Sirius wasn't getting over that cough quickly enough. He walked into his office, he fretted that the baby hadn't started walking when he should have. Stupid common worries. It had been the same with the twins. Their ginger-haired, bubbly twins. And now they were at Hogwarts. A whole new set of worries there. Were they being tortured for being Grangers? For being the children of the Boy-Who-Lived? For being Weasleys? They said they were fine, but he'd told his parents he was fine too. Even when being belittled for being Weasley number six and Harry Potter's hanger-on.  
  
Once, Harry and Ron had argued about having kids. Whose name they'd take, should they do something about making a legal name change (Weasley-Potter or Potter-Weasley?). Was it even fair to have kids that would inevitably be burdened by who their parents were? Hermione had ended it all when she announced that not only was she already pregnant, but she was having twins, and they would be Lily and Molly Granger. Hermione had simply chosen what seemed to her the best time and stopped taking her monthly birth control potion. Fait accompli and it would have been nice if all their arguments had ended so well.  
  
Harry hated it when he knew Ron worried. Harry liked to think that all the bad things were behind him and Ron mostly agreed. Partly because he liked to keep the bad things from Harry. So if Harry could tell Ron was worried then Ron had to be pretty worried. Ron saw the face Harry got when things got tense. Like he was annoyed at the interruption in this good stuff they had. Harry believed everything would just work out, like when he'd fucked about with figuring out the trials for the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione'd done most of the bookwork on that and look how it turned out? No reasons to worry and more than once, Ron felt a bit ashamed for worrying. Like he was dragging up needless alarm.   
  
When Lil and Mol were two, they'd gone missing in Diagon Alley. Ron'd been right there, sitting with the twins outside WhizzHard Books when he'd looked down to see an empty double stroller. Heart in throat, nearly unable to speak, he'd reared up from his seat. Only ten minutes later, after much panic, he had found the girls with a perfectly harmless old Wizard who "just wanted a look at the Potter twins," a name which persisted despite their true surname and physical similarity to their biological father. This was why Ron kept the worry alive. If he didn't, he wouldn't be vigilant. Their own children are prey to the phenomenon that Harry escaped by living with the Dursleys.  
  
All this mental turmoil and all before he'd even gotten home. Hermione would shake her head at him. She'd say he was getting to be a silly old codger and if he wasn't careful, he'd be just the kind of fool he'd always mocked. Ever vigilant, ever not-any-fun-whatsoever. She had a talent, she surely did, for whittling away concerns. If logic didn't work, she'd hold him until he stopped. Run her fingers through his hair, study new lines on his face, and kiss him when he started to talk about his worries. Really important stuff got through but she knew him well enough to know the difference between 'significant issue' and 'needless worry'. Well, that's reason enough to hurry home. Sirius would be there to tickle and feed, Harry would rub his shoulders and tease him about supporting a growing family, and Hermione would get a dinner onto the table with a flick of her wand.   
  
Ron took a deep breath, cleared his mind as much as possible, and in seconds he felt the familiar tug of home. He popped from the network into the kitchen fireplace. A silent kitchen, at that. He didn't even hear Sirius or Widdershins, heir to Crookshanks. It was too quiet and Ron wasn't going to worry, but this wasn't normal. He walked further into the cottage, relaxing a bit when he saw two dark heads curled together on the couch. He checked their chests, and yes they rose and fell, so Ron put down his wand. As he rounded the couch, he saw Sirius in between Harry and Hermione, his eyes blinking lazily at Ron. The baby started to stir and whimper so Ron picked him up. Ron rested a finger against Sirius' cheek, thinking about the combination of love and genetics that made him. He wondered what Sirius would think about his parents' adventures. If it would even mean anything to him.  
  
"Ron, I was beginning to think you'd run off with a Veela." Hermione's sleep-choked voice made Ron glance down. Her eyes stayed closed but she shifted her body a bit.  
  
"No, thought I'd save that for my actual birthday. You know, be properly middle-aged about it."  
  
He set Sirius into the cradle next to the other end of the couch. Perched on the edge of the couch, Ron passed a hand over Hermione's hair. As she arched into the touch, Ron saw Harry's eyes flicker open just as he watched Widdershins leap onto the other edge of the couch. The cat cast a disinterested glare his way before settling down to watch Sirius. He didn't like that cat anymore than her predecessor, but the dratted feline did make a bloody good babysitter.  
  
Harry sounded even more hoarse than Hermione. "Did you eat?"   
  
"No worries. I'll go do something about it now." Ron shifted off the couch, stretching a bit as he did.  
  
"There's leftover soup in the cauldron." Hermione's words muffled as her face turned in the back of Harry's neck. Harry, for his part, just dug deeper into the couch as Hermione ran a hand over his lower back.   
  
Ron touched both their hands lightly on his way back to the kitchen. This was what made all terrible days into better than average. This was happy, this was good, and Ron held onto that as true.  
  



End file.
